The Black Dawn: Blades of Love
by MeowMeowNeko-chan
Summary: 3 years after Ash and Misty parted, the world is overturned by evil and it is up to Misty to save her love and bring light back to the dark world. AAML! R&R!
1. The Mysterious Stranger from the Shadows

_Me: We hope you like our first story. We think it's pretty good._  
_KKK: Yeah! We don't own the characters, lol, but we own the awesome plotline. And the plotline owns you! lol! Please review._  
_Both: AAML FOREVER!_

**Chapter 1— The Mysterious Stranger from the Shadows**

A bright spotlight illuminated the lone figure, in the centre of the stage, with the gleaming grand instrument before her. Darkness everywhere else; darkness in her mind, as the moody timbre of the piano resonated through the large auditorium: every seat filled; every eye intent upon her. Her fingers moved swiftly and gracefully across the smooth ivory keys, her slender figure swaying with the frantic beat of the song, her expression as she rushed through each cadence bewitching the audience. And then, it all stopped; the last note rang out and rushed past each person's ear; and there was utter silence. Gracefully she stood, her red hair tied in a neat coiffeur, wearing her dainty black dress, and she bowed. Suddenly, as if a tap had been turned on, the audience erupted in an enormous applause, and as the rest of the room faded into light, she saw as each person stood to give her a standing ovation. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek: and then once the gratifying applause died away, she slowly walked off the stage; into her dressing-room, where she sat in contemplative silence.

_Three years earlier_

Thunder crashed loudly in the distance; and the bitter tears streamed down Misty's face as she looked once more into those beautiful, deep eyes; cupping his cheek with her hand, stroking it, longing for happier times.

"Why are you leaving me?" she moaned, her words barely audible between loud sobs.

"I must, Misty, if I am to be the Pokémon master that has been my dream since I was a boy." He looked eerily grave, not repulsing Misty's touch, but not responding to it positively, either.

"But I love you!" She sounded almost childish as she cried it; and perhaps she was. "Can't I go with you? Please, you can't leave me! All alone in this strange place—you will forget me; I know you will; and then I will never be able to forgive myself for letting you go. Stay with me, here, and we can be happy all the days of our life. I want nothing else but _you_, dearest."

"It's not my destiny to be trapped in this remote place. You can't come; it's too dangerous. A man who loved you less might allow it." Now Misty withdrew her hand, beginning to feel defeated; beginning to realize that her feminine skills of persuasion were not enough to induce her lover to alter his opinion. Another crash of thunder; then their figures were illuminated momentarily by the proceeding lightning.

"Oh Ash!" was all she was able to say in her trembling paroxysm of emotion. She collapsed into his arms, kissing him feverishly; drinking in his presence for what she knew would be the last time in a long time. And he caressed her, and kissed her brow, and then each cheek, and then her nose, and lastly her lips, the kiss lingering, their mutual desire begging them to not separate; but circumstance tearing them apart all the same. She ran her fingers through his soft, dark hair as they pulled away from each other, and then she only looked at him, fresh tears streaming down her face.

"Take good care of Pikachu; and I will never, ever forget you, Misty Waterflower," he said hoarsely. And then he turned away, and out the door, into the torrential downpour, with little more than the clothes on his back. And she stood on the porch, not caring how drenched she got: watching, pining already; as his figure became smaller and smaller as he walked away, and he not being able to bear looking back upon she whom he could no longer kiss and caress. And he was just a dot in the distance; Misty was about to turn around; and then, a sound much more powerful than thunder and lightning echoed through the flat country plain: and as she squinted into the distance she saw fire, and destruction. There had been—an explosion. And Misty fainted.

_Present day_

It had been three long years but not one detail of that faithful night had faded from her mind. It was still etched into her memories, screaming for release. A knock on the door sounded and Misty turned her head, suddenly hopeful to see the dark-haired man walk through the door but only a small skinny stage-hand entered, clutching a clipboard.

"Miss Waterflower?" he asked. She nodded, her throat very dry from the fierce recollection of her past. He smiled and tapped on his clipboard, "There's a letter for you here." She stood up very suddenly and strode over to the younger man, snatching the envelope out of his hand. She tore it open and unfolded the letter, letting the envelope fall to the floor with a faint clap.

She sat down and immersed herself in the letter, absorbing every detail. It wasn't what she hoped for…it was intriguing still. It was still very, very important. Her eyes widened as the impact of the letter hit her like a kick to the stomach and she began to sob heavily into her hands.

She dismissed the bemused stagehand with a wave of her black, gloved hand. He walked off wordlessly, swinging the door shut behind him to let the distraught woman deal with her own problems. She ran her fingers over the letter, afraid to read it again. Rain pattered down heavily on the window and she noticed the door open a crack and a small yellow rodent trotted in. Pikachu wandered up to his carer, lightning bolt-shaped tail swaying with distress at seeing his friend like this.

She looked up, sapphire eyes glistening with ghostly tears of despair. Pikachu trotted up to her and stared intently. She knew he knew something was wrong. Oh, how she would give to tell Pikachu what she knew that he wasn't supposed to know and wipe that concerned look off his face. She pondered for a moment. He knew something was wrong and it wouldn't hurt for him to know, would it?

No, he can't. He mustn't know what she knows, even if he knows that she knows something that he doesn't know.

"Pikachu…I'll meet you back at the house. There's something…something I need to do," she said with a sigh as she exited. The rodent stared, feeling dejected before he wandered away, too honest to his friend to betray her trust.

_One hour later_

She paced relentlessly up and down the path. The moon above shone brightly, bathing the park in silvery moonlight. Misty was often at this scene, staring up at the sky on a park bench and reflecting on days gone by.

But not today.

Today, she couldn't focus on the past. She turned her head as she heard footsteps approach and a shadowy figure walked towards her. She shivered; she'd recognize that figure anywhere.

"Miss Waterflower," he said in a low-pitched voice. She gulped and gathered her courage. She'd have to face him some time.

"Yes?" she said, her voice shaking despite her attempt to keep calm.

"I bring you…news. Grave news," he continued. She stepped back instinctively and felt her face pale with fear. She clutched at a pendant that usually hung inside her shirt, but today she gripped it in her hands for dear life. It was the last gift her true love had given her before…before…that day. She didn't even know if he was alive, but she was going to hold on. She couldn't give up.

"I read the letter. I understand that already," she hissed, almost venomously. If she wasn't frightened beyond belief, she would have scared him.

"I'm afraid that," he said and then paused for a second and dug inside his coat pocket, producing a small silver disc, "Your _husband_ wants you back."


	2. Corrupted by EVIL

**Chapter 2— Corrupted by EVIL**

Dark storm clouds were gathering over the city; metaphorically as well as literally. The cheery luminescence of the sun was hidden behind the ominous clouds, which shrouded the urban landscape in shadow, and quelled the happy summer play of children and their Pokémon; which gave rise to the unhappy and the grim.

There was a loud rapping on the door, incessant as it had been for the past quarter of an hour, rhythmical as the rain that threatened to shower upon the city. Within these doors sat a man, a wide-brimmed hat shadowing his face, his dark attire fitting for his profession and his overall demeanour. He chuckled to himself; a maniacal chuckle at the expense of others; and then at last looking up from the large mahogany desk he sat behind, thus addressed the Celebi lounging on the sofa:

"Kill him."

The words were spoken forcefully, plainly, ominously; and the Celebi, its once soft crystalline eyes now the colour of blood, rose to the task gracefully, walking over to the door which was still pounded upon. It opened it with a dull, indifferent stare; a sign that all proper sentiment it had been long deprived of; all natural pity and feeling of right. It only opened the door a crack so that the view was hidden to its master; and with one swift movement, there could be heard a thud on the pavement outside as the determined caller dropped to the ground: dead. The door closed and the Celebi once more resumed its place on the sofa.

"He was a foolish man," muttered Brock, more to himself than to his Pokémon companion; "to trifle with me—Team Darkfire; a fool."

The Celebi appropriately made no reply; and after a few minutes of silence, the door from the hall was thrown open, and the doorman, dressed as his master was in a uniform of black, stepped in. Brock turned around in his swivel chair, glowering intently at the doorman, who was pale and trembling in having to behold a man of such authority, and whom he held in such reverence. Brock's gaze never wavered, as if to say, 'get on with it.'

"A… a young lady is here to see you… sir."

His thin lips curved into a smile; nay, a smirk; as he received this intelligence, and with a wave of his hand so as if to gesture that he doorman be off, said:

"Bring her to me." And when the doorman closed the door behind him to fetch said young lady, Brock faced again the Celebi, whose eyes were focused on the floor below it, and dared not look at its master.

"Leave, Celebi."

And the delicate little Pokémon lifted itself from its seat, and unquestioningly disappeared behind another door. Brock then resumed his former posture, leaning back in his seat, and anxious to lay his eyes once more upon the young lady who had come to him. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, as if it would be a painful thing; and then the door flew open, startling him from his daze, and the doorman entered once again, and announced her entrance.

"Brock," a familiar voice said. It was devoid of the warmth that she had once held for him. Her voice was as cold as the iciest glacier now, and a lesser man would have shivered at the sheer hatred pounded into that one word. He looked the young lady up and down. She had certainly grown since he had last seen her. One year ago, to be exact.

_One year ago._

Smoke. Fire. Screams.

Rubble. Chaos. Pain.

That was all that remained of Pewter City, his home. Brock's lip twisted upwards into a smirk. Beside him, his faithful Onix twisted about uncomfortably. Onix was the only Pokemon that had been loyal enough to go with Brock, even after all he'd done. Even after…the incident. Onix still hung onto the tiny, fragile hope that one day Brock may become the man he once was. Vulpix and Geodude had tried to talk him into running away with them, but the land snake would hear nothing of the sort.

Brock knew this. He was aware that Onix thought that he could be brought back. He chuckled sinisterly to himself and the stone snake beside him shivered visibly in sheer fear of the evil man that stood beside him.

Brock raised clutched fist and Onix braced himself for an attack – attacks that had began suddenly and only increased in aggression as time went on – but it didn't come. The brown-haired man simply opened his hand to reveal a tiny silver whistle.

"The Time Flute," he hissed, his eyes burning with the power the tiny instrument in his hand held. To get it had brought the destruction of his own town, his gym, but he didn't care. He had it now. That was all that mattered.

"No, Brock!" a voice cried and rushed up the hill towards him. A blonde girl was running towards him. He smirked. Domino and himself had been boyfriend and girlfriend for a year. After she had quit her Rocket ways, Brock had found her broken and beaten in Viridian Forest. He had taken care of him and they had fallen in love.

But then their love had become one-sided, as Brock had lost part of his very soul to an all-consuming evil. Over the past year, however, Brock had beaten and tortured Domino horribly but the girl still loved him. It gave him great pleasure to see all that affection go to waste. He laughed as she wobbled to her feet, tears streaming down her deathly pale face.

"No…" she said. Brock didn't listen as he took a black pokeball from his belt, blew on the whistle and a green glow began to form in the air in front of him. Lightening split the scene, as if the very whether had predicted the doomsday that was to come.

_LS: Oooh, nice KKK._  
_Me: Thanks! I liked that bit a lot as well!_  
_LS: Shame there was no Ash and Misty though…_  
_Me: ;; Yeah. I suppose all good things take time_  
_LS: Everybody be sure to review!_  
_Both: AAML FOREVER AND EVER!_


	3. The Husband Who Never Cared

**Chapter 3— The Husband Who Never Cared**

Misty stood in the centre of a dark alley, holding a wrinkled map in her hand which she could not read due to the inky blackness of the night, feeling weak and light-headed, and quivering uncontrollably. She was not lost; her destination was in front of her, with the once golden lettering of the street address on the door ashen and covered in dirt. She closed her eyes as she let go of the map, and it was soon swept away by a brisk wind, flapping in the air as it took flight. The dusty lane was stirred up about her, dirtying her clothes, her skin; tainted her, as she had been tainted so long ago. She gripped her pendant, and let out a deep sigh as she recalled that fateful day.

_One and a half years ago_

Since the day that he left her, Misty had never been able to stir from the secluded country cottage. She could not bear to hear he had not lived; that the explosion had killed him, and he had been consumed by the flames. She no longer wept, and moaned, and sobbed for him; she was too tired for that now. Pikachu—her sole companion in her misery—sat by the hearth-fire, looking pensive and melancholy, unable to do more than bestow upon her the sweet sympathy that a gentle creature such as he could give. He too had witnessed the explosion, and judging by Misty's looks and ways, believed him to be dead; and he could not but be affected.

So now Misty sat in her rocking-chair, her arms hanging languidly at her side, and she stared into space as she thought of what might have been. If only she would have detained him a minute longer—she would not be consumed by such uncertainty. But it was not so much the uncertainty that made her shake and tremble, but the fear that he really was dead; and she could not ascertain the truth; not without risking losing the little hope she had left.

She had never had any visitors. All her business at the gym, all her influences in her hometown of Cerulean City, she conducted by letter; but she no longer did these duties with her previous fervour and concern. Her heart, she thought, had died with him; and she was nothing without him by her side, looking so tenderly into her eyes as he had once done.

But today she had a visitor. He did not knock, did not stand on any ceremony; he came in, and his presence was scarcely known till he was before her, and staring earnestly into her eyes. She looked up, very much surprised, but not betraying it through her body language; and as her eyes scanned his dark hair and dark eyes, the familiar shape of face—no, it could not be!

"Ash?" she asked in disbelief. Was she hallucinating? But the man standing across from her only laughed.

"No, Miss Waterflower; I am his brother, Charcoal." She stared in disbelief before she slumped again; her heart had momentarily begun to bind itself together again but the moment he said that, it broke again. She sighed and stared at the ground, dropping her head so that her tangled mop of ginger hair hung over her face. He frowned at this, but brushed it off. Misty couldn't look him in the eye. He was just too much like Ash. If she looked, she feared that she might just start to cry and collapse at his feet.

"Miss Waterflower…I know of my brother's condition. I tracked you for one thing: to get your hand in marriage," Charcoal said. Misty leapt up in repulsion, her eyes burning with rage at the very notion. Who did this man think he was?

"Get out. Now," she spat, her voice heavy with hatred. He simply smirked and gripped a shoulder in his hand and she looked away instantly. There was just too much resemblance…they were almost identical. But Charcoal's eyes didn't hold the same warmth and love as Ash.

"No. Miss Waterflower, I require you marry me. You needn't even change your name. All I want is power over Cerulean city," he said, bringing his face closer to hers and forcing her to look at him. Their noses were almost touching. She tightened her fists, quite prepared to beat the pushy man away.

"What if I refuse?" she hissed between gritted teeth.

"Then I'll tell your whether your beloved is alive or not. Do you really want to risk that hope? The only thing that's keeping you alive?" he asked. Misty tried to keep her gaze steady but then she collapsed into his arms, sobbing heavily.

"No. No. Please, no," she said. She couldn't lose the only thing keeping her alive. The tiny flicker of hope that maybe Ash was alive somewhere, training.

"Good."

_Present day_

"Hello, Miss Waterflower," an all-too-familiar voice said as a figure approached. She shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut and turned away, not able to face Charcoal right now. She could hear his footsteps coming closer and shivered as he rested a hand on her shoulder.

"What do you want?" she said between gritted teeth as she forced her eyes open and watched a Meowth slink across a fence at the end of the alleyway.

"Simple. I'm here to tell you that not only do I need an heir…I also need a sacrifice," he hissed and then placed both hands on her shoulders and pushed her roughly to the ground, pulling hard on her hair and causing her to yelp in pain. She scrambled and tried to get free but he was too strong and overpowered her easily. He pinned her down.

"Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!" she screamed before her screams of protests died down into deep sobs of anguish and pain. As she lay, losing consciousness, she could only groan three tiny words: "Help me, Ash…"

_Me: OMG, is our hero gonna save her in time?_  
_KKK: You'll have to keep reading to find out._  
_Me: I can't wait to find out…_  
_KKK: Don't forget to review our story._  
_Me: And don't forget…_  
_Both: AAML FOREVER! _


	4. The Price of Saving Cerulean

**Chapter 4— The Price of Saving Cerulean**

Misty lay shivering on the cold, slick tile beneath her, too weak and afraid to move. She had not slept that night; she could not; she had whimpered and cried out in anguish till her voice grew hoarse and then was reduced to only whispers. She had tried to put behind her the loveless marriage she had been forced into, the lonely country cottage where she had spent so many hours thinking of her lost love. All of it had faded; she had tried to begin anew; but now the past came back to sting her in the face, and the feeling wasn't pleasant.

"How could he be so cruel?" she whispered into the empty room, and no reply came to her. The tears now came back to her, though they had subsided for several hours; as flashes of that night came over her, and she recalled the intense, stinging pain, and the cruel, vicious touch of her husband. The husband whom she had never loved: whom she could never love; but the one whom she was bound to by duty, by law, by honour.

In spite of her weakness she managed to crawl across the tile where her clothing was heaped in a pile, and she slowly dressed in the middle of the hall, her lip trembling pitifully and more unshed tears glistening in her soft-coloured eyes. Still, she could not bring herself to stand; and she wanted to escape: but she could not. She had been beaten, bruised, poisoned: not only physically but mentally as well. Oh, why had she ever parted from her one true love, the only one who still had a place in her battered, abused heart? She cried out his name—"Ash"—with some vain hope that it might summon him; that she might be saved from her lover's own flesh and blood. It seemed impossible that they were related.

She tensed and recoiled into the corner when she heard the steps of Charcoal descending the staircase; and soon enough, much to her utter terror, he was before her, with an evil grin dancing across his lips, and his hands stuffed into a long, leather trench-coat.

"I see you have gotten dressed," he grunted: "now, come with me, _wife_; I will take you to where you are needed."

He forcefully grabbed Misty's arm and dragged her up, and it took all of the energy within her to walk with him as she leaned against his tall frame (not out of affection, but out of necessity). She yelped in pain at his tight grasp, and whimpered at her intense throbbing headache and feverish sensations, but to all this she only received reprimand; and so she was shamed into silence.

"Where are we going?" she managed to ask him. At first she did not think Charcoal heard; but at length he responded sharply:

"To save your city, wife: Cerulean City."

As he pronounced the word 'wife', he spat it as if it were a curse; and then he tugged at her limp arm even more vehemently than before, and bade her to quicken her pace.

"Save…my city?" she repeated blankly, and he tightened his painful grip and she let out a muffled howl of agony. They exited into a disturbing scene. The city was lit by a strange green glow and a huge riot was starting outside the gym. The residents not rioting were staring up at a tall figure of a man, and a floating Pokémon that fluttered beside him, their eyes full of fear as their brain tried to process the extent of the man's evil.

Misty gasped. She recognized him. Recognized him from so long ago…

_4 years ago_

Misty clung to Ash tight, barely able to conceive what Brock was saying.

"I must leave," the man said solemnly. He stretched out a hand, revealing a blackening scorch mark on the back of his hand. Ash bit his lip and shook his head, as if that would make it all go away. Misty only clung desperately to her lover, not wanting to lose one of her closest friends.

"There must be another way," Ash questioned, stepping towards Brock. Brock jumped back.

"No. No. This mark will expand…it will feed on my soul until I am consumed by deep evil. If I stay with you, I will kill you. Do you understand?" he asked. Misty shook her head. No, she didn't understand any of it. None of it. It didn't make sense. He never explained what happened. Why was all of this happening? Why wouldn't he give them the chance? Ash could defend them both. Pikachu sat in the grass, tail and ears drooping considerably.

"I must go," he said and turned without a formal farewell and walked away into the setting sun. Misty at that point burst into tears and buried her face into Ash's side and the man wrapped an arm around the sobbing young woman, as their friend left them forever.

_Present day_

"Brock," she gasped. Suddenly, a large portion of the gathered crowd dropped to the floor screaming and writhing, as if they had been suddenly and painfully electrocuted. Misty leaned forward and saw that the floating figure was…Celebi!

"Celebi?" she asked faintly. Celebi had always been so good though…so pure…what had happened?

"Give me your Misty Waterflower otherwise I will destroy this entire city and kill you all! We've been waiting for three days! Where is she?" Brock roared. Charcoal smirked evilly and pushed her forward. Tears streamed down Misty's face.

"That's your cue," Charcoal hissed in her ear and then began to laugh sinisterly.

_LS: gasp_  
_Me: Yep. Gasp._  
_LS: What will happen?_  
_Me: I dunno, you write the first part of the next chappie, remember?_  
_LS: giggle Oh yeah._  
_Me: Just don't tell anybody. We've been surprising everybody so far, so don't ruin it!_  
_LS: I won't. I just hope I get the chance to write some AAML next chappie…_  
_Me: Me too T.T_  
_Both: Review, and AAML forever! _


	5. A to Quell an Aching, Abused Heart

_KKK: LOL, nice chapter title, Lady S._  
_Me: Yeah! I can use alliteration! W00t!_  
_KKK: I think you'll really like this chapter._  
_Me: Me too. It's pretty good._  
_KKK: Points for you if you recognize the beautiful song in here._  
_Both: AAML FOREVER! (And don't forget to review)_

**Chapter 5— A Dark, Dank Cellar to Quell an Aching, Abused Heart**

Misty tugged at the white cloth wrapped around her mouth that served as a gag, her cries and moans muffled by it. But she was too weak, and the knot too tight, to allow her the pleasure of escape; and she was being dragged by the collar of her dirtied t-shirt, to she knew not where. Why would Brock do this to her? Why would Charcoal do this to her? Had they no heart, no conscience? The ground was hard and rough beneath her, and her entire body ached from the abuse that she had endured. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying; she was pale and trembling; and she had not eaten anything all that day or the night before.

She felt raindrops splash against her feverish skin; and she only wished to taste the water, and pacify her thirsty desires; but to her groaning she received only a laugh—a laugh devoid of all heart, feeling, warmth. And then she saw that she was being dragged into a large brick building—and down a flight of steps (which was very painful)—and then tossed into an empty room with cemented floors and walls; and the only light provided from a bare, flickering light bulb that hung from the short ceiling. Finally her shirt collar was let go, and she sat helpless and confused on the grimy floor.

The gag was violently pulled off her, and a man—not Brock, not anyone she knew—knelt before her. She was too frightened to say anything now that she had the power to do so.

"You may have one thing; and one thing only."

"Ash Ketchum!" she cried impulsively; just the pronunciation of his name giving her a little strength, a little warmth to her freezing heart. The man scoffed at her, waving the cloth gag in front of her as if it was a taunt.

"Don't make me put this back on you, silly girl. You may have one _thing_, but that one thing cannot be a person or Pokémon."

She shook violently and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes as she contemplated what she could possibly want, if not her darling Ash. But she was rudely awakened from her reverie by her stern companion.

"Tell me now, girl, or you get nothing."

"I… a piano," she said, her voice now hoarse and quiet. The man looked at her quizzically, but nonetheless said that it would be brought to her.

"Food will be brought eventually," he added, and then the heavy cellar door was closed behind him, and Misty was locked in. She could have kissed the man's feet for his affability, although he spoke in a cruel, condescending manner, and clearly cared nothing for her; but it is true it was the closest thing to kindness she had received these past days.

The man, holding the gag that had once wrapt around Misty's mouth, walked down a dark, narrow corridor. She started when he saw a pair of red eyes gleaming at him from the shadows, till a wave of recollection passed over him.

"Celebi," he said coolly, "Fetch a piano for the prisoner."

The Pokémon made no reply, but turned away and floated down the corridor till it reached a door, and, flinging it open, stepped into the light of day.

Misty waited, chewing on the unbuttered bread she had been given to eat and drinking the small cup of water she had to drink slowly and steadily. Suddenly a Celebi appeared, her eyes glowing red. A piano was being held by psychic powers and she lowered it to the ground.

"Thank you; why do you serve them?" Misty managed to say after a few seconds. Celebi made no reply and sat by the door, empty crimson eyes staring intently at Misty. She sighed and sat by the piano. She needed no music sheets. Her heart would give her the music she needed.

"Let's go

With bloodshot eyes, I watch you sleeping

the warmth I feel beside ME is slowly fading

would she hear me, if I called her name

would she hold me, if she knew my shame

There's always something different going wrong

the path I walk is in the wrong direction

theres always someone fucking hanging on

can anybody help me make things better

TEARS!

Your tears don't fall, they crash around me

her conscience calls the guilty to come home

Your tears don't fall, they crash around me

her conscience calls the guilty to come home

The moments died, I hear no screaming

the visions left inside me are slowly fading

would she hear me, if I called her name

would she hold me, if she knew my shame

There's always something different going wrong

the path I walk is in the wrong direction

theres always someone fucking hanging on

can anybody help me make things better

Your tears don't fall, they crash around me

her conscience calls the guilty to come home

Your tears don't fall, they crash around me

her conscience calls the guilty to come home

This battered room I've seen before

the broken bones they heal no more, no more

with my last breath I'm choking

will this ever end, I'm hoping

my world is over one more time

Let's go

Would she hear me, if I called her name

Would she hold me if she knew my shame

There's always something different going wrong

the path I walk is in the wrong direction

theres always someone fucking hanging on

can anybody help me make things better

Your tears don't fall, they crash around me

her conscience calls the guilty to come home

Your tears don't fall, they crash around me

her conscience calls the guilty to come home," she sang beautifully, tears of pain and of a thousand broken hearts streaming like rivers down her pale cheeks as her fingers delicately pressed down on the ivory keys. She sighed and leaned forward on her hands, sobbing hard. She felt a hand rest on her shoulder and turned to see two eyes staring down at her, full of warmth and pity.


	6. A Girl Blessed with the Powers of Mew

**Chapter 6—A Girl Blessed with the Powers of Mew**

Misty looked startled, as if she had just seen a ghost. The truth was—standing before her was a girl of about seventeen. She was dressed all in white, and her flaxen curls were held up with a wreath of lilies. Misty immediately looked to her eyes, their colour a soft sea-blue, with flecks of gold. Her complexion seemed to almost glow—so it is no wonder Misty, with her hair tied in a messy knot behind her head, and her clothes tattered and worn, that she was so startled by this picture of angelical beauty. The girl did not speak, but only continued to look at her so pitifully; and Misty was content with it, just absorbing the warmth that she had seen so little of. Tears streamed down her cheeks; but this time they were tears of joy.

"Who are you?" she finally managed to ask in awe, though her voice seemed too dry and scratchy to be worthy of the ethereal creature who caressed her arm so softly and lovingly. The strange and wonderful girl let out a sad sigh, and said:

"Cinders Ketchum."

The surname raised Misty's interest, and her fingers slipped from the piano keys and to her side.

"You mean, you are—?"

"Yes. I am Ash and Charcoal's sister."

Misty wondered briefly how many Ketchum children there were, and why she had not known of this beautiful sister's existence heretofore. But then the thought passed, and she instead said to she whom she was ready to praise as her saviour:

"Please, help me."

The girl smiled pitifully at her, and leaned down to where Misty sat on the piano stool, the fresh scent of lavender wafting over poor Misty as she leaned in towards her. She parted her soft, taut lips and released another sigh; but then they curved into a lovely smile.

"I will. Close your eyes."

Misty closed them, having complete faith in Cinders. She thought that this girl seemed akin to her beloved Ash; here was where all of the goodness that Charcoal lacked had been kept. And suddenly the smell of the dank, dark cellar was replaced by the sweet scent of honeysuckle and jasmine. Slowly Misty opened her eyes, to reveal a paradise: a lush valley blooming with flowers, and a lake beyond it that sparkled in the warm sunshine. When she looked down she saw that her hands were tightly clasped by Cinders', and that she was now dressed in a feathery white ball-gown, sitting on a large mossy rock that jutted out from the hillside.

"Thank you," was all Misty was able to say as her large, beautiful eyes watered with tears of sweet gratitude. Cinders smiled again at her; now a wider smile, showing her pearly white teeth. And when Misty looked away from her saviour (and so she would call her in her mind from now on) she saw Pikachu, his glossy yellow coat shimmering as he carried in his little paws the pendant that Misty so cherished, now glowing and reflecting deep hues of sapphire and silver.

"Pikachu…" she said faintly, rubbing the mouse between the ears. Pikachu hummed appreciatively.

"Mew sent me to rescue you, Misty Waterflower. You are important to us all. The world needs you alive," Cinders explained. Misty sat down and stared up at her saviour intently, the weight of her words practically forcing her to sit. Cinders sat opposite her, looking the red-head directly in the eyes, "…let me explain. Explain what happened…three years ago."

_Three years ago_

"Mewtwo, help me! I can't…urgh! The evil…aaaaargh! Help me!" the voice screamed again. Mewtwo pressed his hands to his head. He wanted to, he wanted to, he wanted to! He roared and shook with anger, the chains and shackles that tied him down in the dungeon rattling noisily. The stone walls around seemed to shake from his sheer fury. Mewtwo gave up after a few seconds and simply stared down at the floor.

"Celebi…my love…I can't…help," he panted. He looked up suddenly as footsteps approached. A blonde girl stood before him, blue eyes fraught with worry and brimming with tears. Mewtwo opened his mouth to say something but couldn't find the words and decided to just hang silently from the chains that bound him.

"Mewtwo…please, help us," the girl said. Mewtwo quickly read her thoughts. Her name was Domino: an ex-rocket and a girl desperately in love with that evil tyrant, Brock—the same Brock who owned the dungeon that Mewtwo had been chained to for nearly a year. Brock tried to break his will, turn him evil but Mewtwo was strong and resilient.

"I can't Domino," he said, "If you haven't noticed…I'm chained to a fucking wall right now."

"I…I'm sure I can find a way to get you out. Just help Celebi…Brock had her totally under his control! He's going to kill us all! Please, he's not himself! I want the man I love back," she said. Mewtwo grimaced.

"And I want the Pokémon I love back," he mumbled to himself. He looked up at Domino.

"Alright. Get me free and…I'll work with you to stop Brock," Mewtwo said after a moment of thought. He tried to move slightly but the chains were too tight and he could feel the blood dribbling through his messy, filthy white fur. The chains had left deep cuts and welts all over his frame and he knew once he was released, he would be a bloody, scarred mess.

"How?" Domino asked, stepping towards the trapped Pokemon and touching the chains with the tips of her fingers, as if that would release the Pokemon from its agonizing cage.

"Find a girl called Cinders Ketchum. A girl blessed with the powers of Mew."

_Me: Ooh! I like Cinders._  
_KKK: You created her._  
_Me: Oh yeah._  
_KKK: I hope you liked this chapter._  
_Me: We sure did. And don't forget to review._  
_KKK: And most importantly…_  
_Both: AAML Forever!_


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